


Lyra's Milkshake

by ecrituredudesir



Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Breast Expansion, Female Solo, Inflation, Large Breasts, Masturbation, Milk, Milk Inflation, Milking, Nongore popping, Other, Popping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecrituredudesir/pseuds/ecrituredudesir
Summary: Commission for someone on furaffinity.Lyra is a girl who lives in a time where mechanical additions and limbs are commonplace. In order to keep the body from rejecting her mechanical limbs, Lyra has to inject a mixture of nanobots and hormones regularly-- and they have heavy side effects. Rather than wait them out or deal with them normally, Lyra decides to see just what these side effects are capable of.





	Lyra's Milkshake

**Author's Note:**

> My commission info can be found here:  
> https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/8536903/

It wasn’t uncommon for individuals with both robotic and human body parts to have negative side effects of the serums that were used to make sure their bodies operated at top capacity with their artificial additions. Injections were usually done twice a week to supply the body with the necessary hormones and nanomachines to suppress the antibodies that would attempt to reject the mechanical connections to nerve endings and muscle to muscle. It was a complicated process, but many agreed that the benefits vastly outweighed the difficulties of taking a day off after injection dates to deal with the physical repercussions of such sensitive matters.   
  
For Lyra, these side effects bothered her in the same way they always did—and as they bothered many women, unfortunately. Twice a week, she regularly shut down any offers in her business of taking hits, and prepared herself for the day. The careful cocktail of nanomachines that kept her body functioning normally with half of it being cybernetic was also what made her experience the unique discomfort of a day following each injection dealing with not only tenderness of her breasts, but swelling as well. Something about it made her body work in overdrive to produce breastmilk for a brief time, and for the day after her shots, she was usually homebound, working her breasts gently until she was free of the excess milk and capable of continuing on with her life afterwards.   
  
This time, it was a little different. Business had been slow, and while for-hire workers were rarely thrilled when no one was looking to hire, she saw it a little more as an opportunity to explore something she hadn’t done before. Dressing herself in a simple white tank, forgoing the bra under them for what she knew what was to come. A pair of snug but comfortable pair of red workout shorts hung from her hips, and there was a certain manner of anticipation as she laid back on her bed that afternoon after administering the shot in the soft skin under the plush fur of her thigh. From there, it was simply a matter of waiting, as she sprawled herself out on the bed and started to situate to make herself actually comfortable.   
  
This began with pushing the blankets back on the edge of the bed where she could just tuck her toes under them to stay somewhat warm in the contrasting, cool air, and then taking a longer pillow that she’d bought just for this occasion. Parting her legs, she slid the pillow neatly between her thighs where she could pull it flush to the cleft between them with her legs. It felt comfortable and cool between the stretch of skin of her thighs where her shorts rode up, though the pressure of the plush fabric was enough to make her breath a little shorter. The injection was starting to take effect, and she was encouraging the tender arousal that tended to come with it. Her fingers were a little chilly, the cold metal not yet warmed by the heat of her own body, and to start the process a little easier, she slipped one hand below the waistband of her pants to tease along the top of one thigh. Gradually, her fingertips heated against the fur, and she let them dip inwards to brush against her clit. She breathed a sigh of relief, a pleasant feeling tingling up through her hips from the pressure of the little button of nerves, and it’s enough to bring her to a more focused awareness of the other sensations beginning to take place in her body. She’d felt it a hundred times before, but this time she had decided to take the time to truly enjoy it instead of treating it like an inconvenience to be dealt with as quickly as possible.  
  
Lyra lifted her free hand to roam across her left nipple, feeling it hard yet tender under the thin fabric of her shirt. There was a subtle pressure building under both slips of soft skin surrounded by her fur, but that was nothing new. Lactating was common after shots, sometimes in males as well as females depending on the hormone required for whatever implant or prosthetic enhancements they had. The hormones tended to concentrate close to wherever the prosthetic was linked at, affecting certain areas more than others, but considering she’d intentionally taken it in the thigh this time, there was a lingering heat between her legs as well. Primarily, since her arms connected to her shoulders, the sensation and stimulation tended to be the worst in her breasts.   
  
It was a time of experimentation; she had no plans for the weekend, it was Friday and with nothing else to do, she had every intention of seeing how far she could push herself. As she always did, Lyra let out a slow exhale, toying her fingers across her clit until warm temperature had evolved into a wet heat between her thighs, but she was also careful not to push herself too far. It was only a preparation for not being able to focus on herself down there, getting ready for the main event—which now, an hour after the shot, was beginning. That subtle pressure that had initially been forming just from milk alone had started to produce. Against the white shirt, small patches of liquid made the shirt transparent around her nipples. Wiping the moisture from her arousal away against the inside of the shorts, she lifted her other hand up to her other breast, giving a little squeeze. The effect makes her moan quietly, and as she’d expected, any sort of pressure made the milk forming in her breasts give a soft gush against the inside of her shirt.   
  
“Mn…” Her voice escapes her in a soft, delighted little moan, pressing her lips together as she tried to not draw the attention of any of the smart-programs running in the background of her household. She didn’t need one of the food-droids thinking she was in need of medical assistance. Her tongue curled tenderly against the sharpness of one of her front teeth, tenderly scraping the taste buds there as it ducked forward to whet her lips. As her milk hit the fabric, the white shirt began to cling to skin and fur, outlining the shape of her breasts clearly. There was some growth, there always was when she took the injection, but by now she’d be frustrated and in the shower trying to milk herself to lessen the pressure and make them smaller, eager to return to work or move about her average day. She had never let it build before.   
  
Lyra exhaled softly, rolling her hips once against the pillow, resisting the urge to seek gratification and relief by milking herself. Instead of kneading her breasts as she tended to do, she stopped pressing against them, and instead, moved to pinch her nipples. The pressure against the sensitive skin makes her gasp, biting against her lower lip. The pressure between her thighs was limited by her shorts, and she could tell that she couldn’t press hard enough on her own for the sensation it caused, worried she’d press too hard with her metal fingers or not hard enough, her grip slipping a bit because of the wetness there.   
  
An idea occurred to her, and swallowing, she moved quickly to stand, despite the pleasant light-headed wobble from the fact she was already fairly turned on. Lyra had just the thing in mind, even if there came the faint concern that she might wind up making a mess on the way if she wasn’t careful. By now, she was practically dripping against her shirt, which she held tightly to her chest as she moved from her room to the kitchen. There, in one of her drawers, she fished out two metal clamps that she normally used to close snack food bags, trying not to groan as her swollen nipples rubbed against the wet fabric of her shirt, her movement making the warmth of her milk cool in the air, sending shivers down her spine. Her trip back to the bedroom isn’t nearly quick enough for her tastes, but she tossed the clamps back onto her bed and careful of the fact she was still wet, her thumbs hooked into her pants. She’s painfully slow, teasing herself almost, as she slid the fabric down the curve of her ass and down her thighs. Her room was naturally chilly, and the cool air hitting the heat of her pussy was enough to make the muscles twitch there in response, something she hummed in pleasure from. The next part was much more precarious: peeling off her white shirt and lifting it over her head.   
  
The movement was enough to make a little rivulet of milk slide down her breasts, wetting her fur from her stretching. Both were swollen to a little over half their normal size now, her nipples puffy and taunt from strain. Lyra gasped softly as she lifted her right hand to cup one, the metal cool to the skin again, but against the temptation, she still does not squeeze. Instead, she exhaled softly to avoid such temptation, and moved back onto the bed. This time, she left herself up on her knees to slide herself down on the pillow she’d left on the bed, knowing she’d have to change the case on it later but caring little as she felt the fabric slide between the now bare fur of her thighs, and more importantly, flush up to the heat of her slit. A pleased rumble slips from her chest as she rocks against it once, then twice, before holding it tightly in place as she laid back on the bed again. Here came the only intimidating part.   
  
Lifting the first clasp to her right breast, Lyra grit her jaw as she closed it over one puffy, leaking nipple. A small noise of displeasure slips free first at the pain, acclimating to how tightly it held it from leaking any further. Before she could focus too much on that little flash of pain, she clamped her other nipple as well, leaning back to deal with the conflicting sensations of pressure without relief at her breasts, even though the effect was slowly becoming obvious. Without any way of leaking the building milk from her breasts, they were starting to swell.   
  
It was slow, but sure. If she stared for long enough she wouldn’t see it, but it happened as naturally as her breathing in and out rose her chest. She could _feel_ it, though. Each slow inhale made her more and more aware of the tautness under the skin. Tongue brushing against her lip again, she left them parted so she could breathe a little more easier—a little deeper, too. It wasn’t long until her comfortable handfuls of breast were straining, twice their normal size, and since she wasn’t doing anything to relieve her body of the pressure, they were only growing. It was more pleasurable than she could have imagined, even with her nipples clamped. Then again, that warmth came as well from the fact her hips were able to roll and grind against the pillow, exposed now, as she watched her breasts rise and tense with each inhale.   
  
She had no idea how much they’d grow. She had expected an increase in size, perhaps, but as her body continued to produce and produce, it seemed there was no stop to it. It was already as if she had two fair sized cantaloupes, squishy but quickly becoming tighter and denser with milk, weighing down her chest. Lyra let out a pleased little groan, one hand lifting to massage one but not so much that it would put her at risk of forcing the clamp off. Her hips were moving feverishly now, hard as she drew in the pillow tight against her pussy with her legs drawing upwards. “Oh, fuck,” she gasped aloud, feeling her face burn as her hand found itself unable to even reasonably cup her breasts now, far too large to actually reach fully around it. Her nipples were starting to feel stretched, the soft squish of flesh not used to accommodating so much beneath it, and now, she was at least three times her normal size.   
  
Her breathing had started to become ragged, and though her hips couldn’t stop moving, it was rocking her swollen breasts as an aftereffect. Watching her inflated breasts bounce from her own grinding against the pillow felt surprisingly lewd, but she couldn’t stop her fascination or arousal at the sensations running through her. They seemed no closer to stopping their growth, too, even though she was distantly aware of the fact that she might reach her limit sooner than she had anticipated. The temptation to try and reach around them to stroke herself was great, but the feeling of both hands teasing her clamped nipples and rubbing against the swollen, tender area around her tight areolas was even more so.   
  
It was after they were almost four times their normal size, approaching the size of beach balls, that she started to realize that they might not stop growing if nothing interfered. The sensation was intense. Much like a beach ball as well, her breasts were tight, no soft give to her skin as milk filled them.  It pushed up against her areola, making the rise of them against her skin and fur even more obvious, and from the heat and tension stretching her skin, she could feel every little pulse of blood sliding through the veins just under the skin. Her breaths were a pure mix of just groans and breathless, gaspy moans by then, mouth hanging open as she felt her blood pound through her breasts like a strong pulse. Almost like she could feel her heart beating through them, both in her skin and just under her hands.   
  
All at once, it’s too much to bear, and she let out a sharp, delighted cry when suddenly the tension in her breasts _pops_ at her nipple, a small blast of milk forcing off the tight clamps of her nipples. The pressure had become too much for her body to bear, forcing the milk from her nipples as they burst with milk, spurting warm, heated liquid all over herself, soaking into her fur, her skin, the bed. It coated her groping hands—hands that would have tried to catch or stop some of the mess, if the woman hadn’t come hard right as she popped.   
  
Her hips had been grinding vigorously against the pillow the entire time, and feeling the sudden start to the release of pressure in her breasts had been enough to make her shamelessly orgasm. She spread herself against the pillow as firmly as possible, feeling her warm folds tease and twitch against the pillow, soaking the juices of her climax into the fabric. Her hands could do nothing to stop the milk other than grope herself roughly, encouraging the quick, pulsing spurts of it as each beat of her heart seemed to only encourage more and more of it from her swollen, abused nipples. It felt like she had cum for nearly a minute solid, but that was only driven on by the sensation of it taking several minutes to fully empty every bit of pent up milk from her breasts. Each time the flow felt like it would ebb, her body refused to fully empty.   
  
Lyra was exhausted by the time she was finished. Her bed was thoroughly soaked with both her milk and a bit of sweat, but at least her pillow had caught any wetness that tried to leak from between her thighs. Breathing hard, she registered a bit of soreness; she’d probably squeezed a bit too hard, unintentionally, in her attempts to relieve herself of the milk—but pushing herself until she had popped likely contributed to the tenderness of her breasts now as well. It took her longer still to recover from the shaky, heavy breathing that still bounced them slowly, tenderly, with each exhale.   
  
In the back of her mind, she registered the sound of a small, humming chirp start from the port on the wall. One of her home’s cleaning procedures had dispatched a small drone to assist with the cleanup process. While she knew her bed would need to be cleaned as quickly as possible to keep the scent of milk from settling in, she can’t help but sigh quietly; she’d hoped for at least a few more minutes before she’d have to move from where she’d sunk back into her mattress in the blissful afterglow of the most intense orgasm she’d ever felt.   
  
The droid didn’t take long at all to get to her, and with her hair mussed, she moved to sit up. Lyra gave the little droid a wave, still too blissed out to truly be annoyed or vexed with it’s chirp—a clear request for her to vacate the area so it could clean the mess it had found. “Okay, okay,” she hummed, slowly and carefully removing the pillow, almost sticky with her juices still, from her thighs. She needed a shower anyway, she mused, as the little device quickly began to move about her bed with purpose, waiting until after she’d stood on wobbly legs before it started to get to work on her mess.


End file.
